2010 Ford Shelby GT500 Super Snake First Test - Motor Trend
Something is very, very wrong here.
On its third pull, the blue black 2010 Shelby GT500 Super Snake just lit up K&N's dyno to the tune of 635 horsepower and 581 lb-ft of torque. Quick mental math says somewhere between 730 and 760 horsepower at the crankshaft.
I quickly text Scott Black of Shelby's PR company for an explanation. He responds: "We are in the midst of changing our marketing materials to reflect 750...which we announced at the car launch last month." Hmmm. Must have missed that. I don't miss the unintentional irony of Black's sign off: "We tend to be a bit conservative."
Seven hundred and fifty horsepower is conservative? Yeah, like an 8 x 8 In'n'Out Double-Double "Animal Style" or Giselle Bundchen in spattered green body paint.
Head still spinning from the obscenity of 635 wheel horsepower (three shy of what a Corvette ZR-1 makes at the crank) we head to Fontana to test the Super Snake's traction and road test editor's Scott Mortara's launch skills.
Mortara has already been prepped for this adventure. Vince LaViolette, Shelby Automobile Inc's senior designer, test driver, and, apparently, vehicle transporter already gave us a tutorial when he dropped off 2010 Shelby Super Snake #001C. "Drop the clutch and then immediately shift to second," says LaViolette, while spasmodically jerking his left foot and right hand backwards. "Otherwise, you're just going to sit and spin."
We take him at his word, but it's no good. Despite the brief engagement, the Super Snake simply roasts its PZeros in first gear and then all the way through second and most of third gear. It doesn't matter what technique Mortara employs -- hard, gear crunching launches, a soft roll into first, even second gear starts -- he simply can't set the Super Snake's ponies into forward motion. It's like the Raiders on third and short. Despite all the firepower, it simply can't convert. Only at the top of third gear does the pavement finally catch up to the furiously melting Pirellis. From then on the Super Snake is like a Rocket (Ismail?) through the quarter mile.
Just compare the acceleration of the Super Snake with its little brother -- the GT500. At 1.7 seconds to 30 mph, they're dead even -- though the Super Snake seems more interested in making little sooty piles of rubber from the moment it leaves the start. A heartbeat later, the GT500 is pulling ahead -- hitting 40 mph three tenths of a second faster (2.3 vs 2.6 sec). By 50 mph, the Snake's grip is returning but it's still a tenth behind (3.3 vs 3.2 sec). They're tied up at 60 mph (4.1 sec) and 70 mph (5 sec flat). By 80 mph big bro is locked-and-loaded and bombing down the runway at full slither. At 90 mph, the GT500 is now seven tenths of a second behind (7.7 vs 7.0 sec) and at the century, the Super Snake has it by a full second. At the 1320 foot marker, the Super Snake clicks off 12.0 seconds flat at 120.1 mph; four tenths of a second later and 4.1 mph slower comes the GT500.
Impressive? Absolutely. Any street legal production car within striking distance of an 11-second quarter mile is impressive, but the Super Snake's glorious excess power from its massaged 5.4-liter supercharged V-8 might also be its biggest flaw.
So say the handling numbers. With a lateral acceleration of 0.92 g and a figure 8 time of 25.7 sec at 0.72 g, the Super Snake is a solid performer. Problem is it slots in behind the GT500 in both categories (0.96 g, 25.1 sec at 0.81 g). In fact, a regular track pack-equipped Mustang GT (0.95 g, 25.5 sec at 0.70 g) gets around our cones quicker.
So what's the problem? Weight is one factor, as the Super Snake is 372 lbs heavier than the GT, but that can't be the only reason. The GT500 weighs only 31 lbs less than the near production model Snake we tested. Once it has its much lighter hood (which feels like it adds 60 lbs to the nose), the two should be nearly even.
The real problem is all that power. Exiting turns with 750 horsepower underfoot is no easy feat; you either get it right or Sweet Jesus wrong. It's easy to blame it all on the tires as the PZeros are clearly not built for this kind of high horsepower insanity. Blip the throttle and they provide as much traction (and English) as a cue ball. Then again, few tires on market can handle the effects of a rapidly spooling Whipple blower on 16 psi of boost.
Good thing the Super Snake comes with excellent brakes; in this case six-piston calipers and 14-in. rotors both front and rear from aftermarket supplier Baer Brake Systems. This setup provides for a 60-0 stopping distance of 114.4 ft; not bad for a nearly 4000-pound rocket sled.
Around town, the Super Snake is surprisingly livable; all of the stylish and comfortable features that we love in the GT500 have been ported over, including the fuzzy synthetic suede steering wheel and stiff, short throw, cue-ball topped shifter. Sure, the Borla cat back exhaust is loud, but we've had far more obnoxious systems roar through our garage (we're looking at you, Roush 427R). Even the ride doesn't seem to suffer much from the upsized Alcoa dubs -- despite the 10-in. width of the rear wheel. Keep the right foot light and you can cruise all day long and almost forget you're in something this special. Almost.
Passersby will be happy to help remind you, as the Shelby cuts a mean, gladiatorial stance that draws legions of onlookers. Ford Racing's suspension sets the wheel arches just above the polished Alcoas and gives the Super Snake a low, menacing swagger. Even those unfamiliar with the Shelby heritage know they're looking at something extraordinary. They stop and stare at the wire looped hood pins, massive vents on the bulging bonnet, and blocked off quarter windows. Their eyebrows rise at the carbon fiber front splitter and rocker panels. When they find the voice to gasp, "What is it," a simple nod in the direction of the Super Snake badge is sufficient.
Or you can provide a little show and smell by turning off the Super Snake's traction control and mashing the throttle. Do so and you're rewarded with a rightward flick of the needle on the A-pillar mounted boost gauge followed immediately by the sweep of the surging tachometer. Up front, comes the low, rising moan of the supercharger -- like the E-string of a bass guitar being pulled quickly towards the pegs. From the rear follows a painful howl from the two 285/30R20 rear-mounted Italians. At long last (oh, about two seconds) pours forth a thick cloud of pure white tire smoke. If they didn't know before, they certainly know now.
And after testing arguably the mightiest production Mustang ever, so do we. In our considered and conservative opinion, the Super Snake is certifiably mad.
